


Missing Pages

by theZanyArthropleura



Series: WIPmas [2]
Category: Godzilla - All Media Types, Power Rangers
Genre: Belvera is a little shit, Christmas Party, Christmas Special, F/F, Wholesome Vandalism, death mentions typical of the fic, power rangers jump-cut geography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28293909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theZanyArthropleura/pseuds/theZanyArthropleura
Summary: WIPmas: a self-imposed challenge to write a holiday-themed special for as many of my WIPs as I can, regardless of how much is complete or whether any of it is posted at all.Set in the universe ofDon't Tell Me (How This Game Ends), sometime around chapter 5 or 6.
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: WIPmas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072982
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	Missing Pages

A focused charge of red energy surged over Masako’s right gauntlet, rippling like an electric current as it supplied power to one extended, clawed finger. It created enough heat to melt and reshape solid stone, a task the ranger performed carefully and with precision.

There were footsteps, and the light shifted, a brilliant and contrasting glow cast over Masako’s immediate surrounding and any of the snow flurries that drifted into range.

“You, there!” the voice shouted in accusation. “What are you doing?”

Masako ignored it, taking another moment to finish the last set of etched markings.

“I _said_ what are you doing!”

Masako sighed, crossing her arms again to look upon her work.

Where she knelt on the snowy ground, the four fibrous wings hung down her back like a cape, but when she stood, they hastily reshaped into her jagged longcoat. The glow of her armor’s eyes, horns, and forearm spikes reignited as she turned, burning like fire in the harsh glare of the spotlight. Hands clenched at her sides, she stared down the other with cold, tranquil hostility.

“Not vandalizing tombstones, if that’s what you were thinking,” she deadpanned.

The security guard eyed the ranger at first with fear. Then, as his eyes drifted to the grave marker at her feet, and the others around it, the fear was accompanied by a shard of understanding.

Or, the closest thing to it, of which he was capable.

The man’s radio cackled, and he hesitantly unclipped it from his belt, and brought it to his ear. His eyes returned to Masako at the sound, and remained there as he spoke.

“False alarm. Guess the weather’s still messing with the motion sensors.”

He didn’t nod, or make any gesture of acknowledgement. He turned away, tense as if his life was in the balance until he disappeared from view.

Masako looked back down at the markers, some still showing faint traces of molten glow. In this part of the cemetery, if the guard kept his mouth shut, they might not be noticed for days, perhaps weeks. Masako let another breath settle, her voice a bleak, solemn whisper on the wind.

“Happy season. Sleep easy.”

In a flash of red, she leapt away through a bolt of lightning, the snow at her feet singed with a starburst pattern like spreading wings.

  


* * *

  


In Desolation, the acknowledgement of holidays had never been extravagant. There had been no particular day of celebration, at least collectively. Current religious practice was rare, but where it existed, it was diverse across multiple faiths, and individual gatherings happened accordingly. The season in general was one of remembrances, of modest decoration, and of battling the cold.

Since Masako had become the Battra ranger, conditions had gradually changed for the better, as there was little need for qualms about stealing from those marked for death. Polluters had deep pockets, but it was the common entrepreneur-criminals that tended to keep cash on hand.

Proper heating for the main building had been about fifth on the list of necessities, but Masako already had things funded to the eleventh. This year, there was to be at least some effort to recreate the sort of festive season many had left behind, and others had never known.

“I’m not going to a party,” Masako stated flatly.

Azusa crossed her arms pointedly, pen and clipboard supported at odd angles in her hands.

Masako’s shoulders fell as she glared with half-rolling eyes. “I don’t even celebrate—”

“It’s a general, activity-centric focal point of nondenominational, nostalgia-motivated festivities,” Azusa spoke in annoyed deadpan. “Just the excessive, capitalist parts of the holiday season, but funded with stolen money, so you know… _not_.”

“Pretty sure that makes it _more_ capitalist, but it’s beside the point.” Masako heaved a sigh. “I can’t be distracted. I need to be on-guard, _especially_ tonight. If something happens, and I’m in here ‘having a good time,’ I might not be able to react fast enough. I’m just one person.”

“Then _don’t_ make it just one person,” Azusa countered, now back to jotting notes on her clipboard after pushing her circle-framed glasses up her nose. “Invite some of your ranger friends. That’ll be more than enough to cover any emergent threats.”

“I don’t _have_ any ranger friends,” Masako groaned. “I’m a _villain_.”

“And I’m sure there are at least a few of them who know that isn’t true.”

“Not _a few_ ,” Masako corrected, waving a finger. “ _One_ , if I’m stretching it.”

Azusa nodded. “Then invite _one_ ranger friend. I’ll clear it with the others.”

By her tone, it wasn’t a request. Not that anyone here had any authority over anyone else, but most people, even Masako, tended to listen to Azusa when they knew she had a point. Which was more of the time than anyone dared place bets against.

Masako grumbled quietly to herself, as Azusa turned and walked away. “ _One_ ranger friend. Sure. Sure, that’s gonna happen.”

  


* * *

  


Once night had fallen, Masako took the Battra zord above the cloud layer, bathing the machine in the light of the moon and the light dusting of snow that settled on its wings. Soaring out over the bay, she found a secluded spot to hover idly, and tapped open the zord-to-zord comm channel.

It was less than a minute before a video feed popped up on-screen.

“So, what is it this time?” Masako joked, a clawed finger to her helmet’s chin. “Mile low club soda, or mile low club crackers?”

In the Baragon helmet, Yuzo managed to look uniquely puzzled, but continued past it. “Actually it’s a flash-cook steam noodles recipe I’m trying out.”

“Sure, sure,” Masako acquiesced, before hitting the roadblock. “Wait, how are you cooking underground, in your zord? Some kind of portable—”

Yuzo held up his armored gauntlet to the camera, a metal panel retracting away on the extending emitter housing. In demonstration, the wrist-mounted flamethrower discharged a small burst of fire, before collapsing back to rest flush and undetectable in the armor surface.

“… _Right_ ,” Masako nodded. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”

Yuzo shrugged. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t give you coal even if Santa might.”

“On that topic…” Masako cut in, nearly groaning at her own words. Her head gradually sunk deeper and deeper into her shoulders each time she continued. “Do you have any… plans for… Christmas.”

“Uh… not really?” Yuzo replied with another shrug, sliding a bowl of noodles in front of him on the dash before remembering he couldn’t actually eat with his helmet on. “Shinji said he’s going on a bar crawl, which sounds too much like gym class to me. Kenji has a thing with family, and Hachiro’s prepping for some gaming thing he’s all secretive about. I was just gonna stay at home, cook a big dinner, you know. Why?”

Masako sighed longly, but braced herself. “Would you like to go to my holiday party?”

“Oh! Uh, sure thing!” Yuzo said, awkwardly but excitedly. “How much food should I bring?”

Masako sat there, stunned, for a few more seconds before she’d processed the question. “Food? I mean… how much were you… _planning_ on bringing?”

Yuzo looked… oddly frank and serious, staring directly into the camera. “Let’s just say I’m looking for an _upper_ limit here.”

It took a bit longer for Masako to really think about that, but the lightbulb clicked eventually. Under her helmet, she was smiling.

“Pretend there isn’t one.”

  


* * *

  


“Yuzo?” Azusa asked with skepticism, though it was probably because she didn’t recognize the name and not because she knew she _should_ have some level of concern.

“Yeah, he’s…” Masako found physical description difficult, though her hands were drawn by the base instinct to indicate height. “…sort of on the short side?”

“On the short side?” Azusa stood, blinking. “I have no idea what that even means. The average height of your outside friends is like, two and a half feet tall.”

Masako rolled her eyes. “Belvera is an outlier and should not have been counted.”

The little spoken-of devil in question was, currently, riding Garu-Garu in circles in the air above the corner table, eyeing the small holiday candy display with the seeming intent of spearing a gumdrop with the sharpened candy cane she was holding like a jousting pole.

Before long, however, she was following Masako out down the hallway, until she simply parked her mechanical dragon mount midair, blocking the ranger’s path with crossed arms and an almost-convincing, punitive scowl.

“I think we all know who you _should_ have invited.”

Masako sighed, eyes almost rolling back into her head. “Naoko wears white sweaters and short skirts with leggings, unironically orders pumpkin spice _everything_ , and has probably been to that petting zoo Yuzo keeps talking about at least once, if she doesn’t _volunteer_ there. She will not go to a Christmas party, in an abandoned building, that didn’t have electricity or reliable running water until three months ago.”

Belvera huffed her shoulders and puckered her lips with a dawning smirk. “ _Or_ , you’re exactly the kind of charity case she’d be all over. Probably a way to guilt trip her too, after last time—”

“Besides, her family is _definitely_ the type that already has a huge traditional celebration,” Masako countered firmly with an arched brow and crossed arms of her own, “that they probably spend eleven months of the year planning.”

“That sounds less like an excuse, and more like something you should probably go rescue her from.”

“That’s not my choice to make, and she knows full well what she’s getting into,” recited Masako with irritation. “Why are you so invested, anyway? I thought you hated Mothra.”

Belvera grinned a shit-eating grin to end all shit-eating grins. “Not as much as Battra does.”

“I see,” Masako realized with a sigh, nearly gritting her teeth through the words. “You’re not trying to set me up with Naoko, you’re trying to set _Battra_ up with misery.”

_ I TOLD YOU SHE WAS LIKE THIS, REMEMBER THAT. _

_I take full responsibility for allowing her into our lives, but this is far too entertaining to stop now._

  


* * *

  


Masako and Azusa turned a city block away from the towering business district, and found their beat-up pickup plowing through falling, uncleared snow on a small-town street, where the building signs were in English and there wasn’t a structure above three stories visible for miles around.

“Always weirds me out when that happens,” Azusa admitted to herself quietly.

Yuzo was at the rendezvous point – a single, small building dedicated entirely to being a pizza shop. As they pulled into the parking lot, the boy was just kicking his way out the door, with six flat, square boxes balanced in his arms. He brought the additional cargo to an already-overloaded manual cycle, which by the number of baskets already mounted on and around it, Masako hoped was a tricycle for balance reasons alone.

“Oh, hey, you’re here!” Yuzo greeted excitedly, almost dropping the boxes but catching himself at the last second. "You think you can take all this stuff?”

Masako walked over and took the boxes before tragedy could inevitably strike. “Probably carry all this _and_ the bike, let’s just start loading – _I’ll_ start loading.”

Yuzo nodded without complaint, and searched his maroon jacket for a folded piece of paper. Seeing Masako had her hands full, he offered it to Azusa instead. “I have it all organized by storage temperature, then alphabetically.”

Stunned, Azusa looked more impressed that she’d ever looked with anyone else, _ever_. “You do?”

Masako rolled her eyes. “Let’s get going. Plenty of rooms back in the building you two can get, though you’d have to explain what that means, first.”

Azusa scowled back at her, while Yuzo looked confused.

When the food was loaded and tied down, they retook their seats, with Yuzo sliding onto the back bench behind the driver and passenger chairs.

“Hey…” the Baragon ranger asked with hesitance. “This isn’t the same truck you use to hide dead bodies, is it?”

“That’s a different one,” Masako assured.

“We’re not _animals_ ,” added Azusa.

  


* * *

  


Someone, or perhaps several people, had noticed the inherent coincidence that was the prominence of the colors red, green, and gold in the seasonal decorations, and had subtly arranged the festive displays in the pattern of Battra’s wings. Or _unsubtly_ , in the case of several direct effigies, including a Battra-shaped tree-topper made from three shades of reflective construction paper.

_ DO NOT LET THIS BECOME A CULT. _

_Relax, I know these people. I’m pretty sure it won’t_

_ HOW SURE? _

_…pretty sure._

The festivities were underway, and Desolation’s residents were both amazed and grateful to have so much food in one place. Yuzo beamed, and happily explained each dish, unbothered by anyone’s appearance or dietary restrictions.

Masako sat with the others for a while, quiet and reflective through the music, laughter, and bleak smiles from those who couldn’t laugh anymore. Sometimes there were hands on her shoulders, a few with the confidence to rest against her with warmth.

Eventually, she found a moment to slip away, taking her plate and leaving the room behind.

The memorial wall stretched along the hallway, pictures and written notes and offerings plastered over the bricks seemingly without end. Benches were set up along the opposite side of the corridor, between the entrances to other rooms. The space was more decorated, more full of tribute than it had ever been.

There were blank spaces on the wall, too. Not empty, just… with nothing there, and everyone recognized to leave them just as much as they recognized the spaces that were filled.

It was one of these, that Masako set herself across from, a familiar ritual. She knew the pattern of grooves between the bricks, the shape made where the edges of other materials intersected the recessed lines in the paint layer, so well she could see it when she closed her eyes, even miles away.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there, when her quiet vigil was disturbed by a faint flutter of wings. A moment later, Masako felt the buzz by the side of her head, the cat-sized mechanical dragon nearly clipping her ear as he passed. She also felt the scrape on the pads of her finger and thumb, the rough edges of salt from the pretzel she’d been holding as it was torn free.

Belvera hovered on Garu-Garu in the middle of the hallway, handily removing the pretzel from the curved end of the candy cane she’d used to hook it away. Deciding even the extra-thin snack was too thick at all points for her tiny mouth to bite into, she opted to lick at one of the salt crystals instead, relishing her victory.

“I was eating that,” Masako spoke dully, with mild disbelief.

“What, after you let it sit in your hand for _another_ five minutes?” Belvera snarked with hidden disappointment. “You’re missing the party, and it’s actually a pretty good one!”

“Just leave me alone, okay?”

“Fine,” Belvera sighed, setting the candy cane on the lateral holster she’d added to Garu-Garu’s saddle and crossing her arms. “Oh, and your girlfriend’s up on the roof, you should probably know.”

Masako tensed. “ _What_ did you—"

Belvera put up her hands with a tired glare. “I actually had nothing to do with it.”

The words seemed genuine enough, even through Belvera’s smile. Masako pointedly ignored her anyways, and sighed as she stood and made for the stairs.

  


* * *

  


Naoko stood on the fine gravel of the small, walled-in roof section, leaning against the part of the building that continued upward. She was in her ranger armor, but once Masako opened the door, the suit faded in a wash of silver, revealing the awkward but honest girl beneath.

She’d started shivering too, the hazards of relying too much on ranger armor to keep out the cold.

She at least had her sweater, though it couldn’t be that much protection from the present temperature. Compared to Masako’s worn leather jacket, Everything Naoko wore was… soft, inviting, and always—

_ DO NOT. _

_What? I didn’t even think anything yet!_

Masako held the door open, gesturing inward with an arched brow. Naoko smiled, and hurried past, spinning happily once she’d stepped inside and facing Masako when she pulled the door closed.

“What happened to…” Masako prodded cautiously. “You know… your parents and… whatever they were supposed to be doing?”

Naoko looked sad and guilty, but deeply relieved. “I… told them I couldn’t make it.” Her eyes shot over a knowing look, almost rolling. “You know how they are.”

Masako grinned. “Mandatory church services, with an _actual deity_ running commentary in your head not sound like the ideal way to spend the holiday?”

Naoko laughed. A cute, muted laugh with an infectious smile, though it faded. “Yeah… I figure we should probably keep the ‘I converted to Mothraism, oh and also I’m gay’ conversation as far out of reach as possible.”

Masako’s eyebrows rose at that. “So, you’re sure about that last part now?”

Naoko swayed a bit on her feet, hands clasped together nervously, but her smile was clear and confident, almost suggestive through her slight blush. It fell to hesitance, and worry, though, as she spoke. “I… took me a while, but yeah.”

Masako set a hand to Naoko’s shoulder, soothing idly with her thumb. “You have family here if you need it.”

Naoko nodded in thanks that verged on tearful, but her ears caught the music resounding faintly through the building. “Is that… a party?”

“Yeah, we… we threw something together,” Masako explained, scratching nervously at the back of her neck. “You wanna… go with me?” She asked, gesturing down the hall. “As, uh… _friends_ , I mean…”

The downcast, guilty look from Naoko settled her nerves.

“Hey, you’re _fine_ ,” Masako assured, touching Naoko’s hand but not yet holding it. “You’re one of us now, and… I mean _Yuzo_ ’s even here…”

Naoko’s eyes widened with surprise, maybe more so disbelief. “ _Yuzo?_ Like…”

“…Baragon ranger Yuzo, yes,” Masako completed with an almost eye-roll at the absurdity. “We’re… sort of friends, I think.”

With playful skepticism, Naoko narrowed her eyes. “And how did _that_ happen?”

“Against my will,” Masako deadpanned, “but he’s sweet.”

“He is,” Naoko agreed with fondness, then smiled, posturing her back with a nod as she formally offered her hand. “And _yes_ , I will go to the party with you. _As friends_.”

The end qualification was accented with an edge of distant, future suggestion, but not present expectation. Masako smiled warmly, genuinely at that, and took the other girl’s hand, the two shifting to walking arm-in-arm, then leaning shoulder-to-shoulder as they strolled back down the hallway toward the stairs.

_ NO. _

_Relax, you… you know I’m not even ready for anything like that again…_

_ AND WHEN YOU ARE, YOU WILL HAVE MANY, BEAUTIFUL OPTIONS, BUT THE MOTHRA RANGER IS OUR SWORN ENEMY. _

_Your sworn enemy._

_ BOTH OF OUR SWORN ENEMY. _

_If you say so._

Battra’s annoyed, reverberating groan was still very, very weird to hear, but Masako figured someday, she could probably stand to get used to it.


End file.
